


It's Got a Good Ring to It

by pollitt



Category: Donald Strachey Mysteries (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-12-29
Updated: 2007-12-29
Packaged: 2017-11-01 16:38:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/359016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pollitt/pseuds/pollitt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It isn't that Donald wants to know what Timmy's present is, it's just that the investigative process is so fun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Got a Good Ring to It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sra_danvers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sra_danvers/gifts).



> Written for the nick-n-nora holiday exchange. 
> 
> Originally the boys were plotty, then they just got romantic. Thank you to Maverick, without whom I'd probably be writing in crayon.

Donald Strachey is good at his job. Sure he gets hit more times than he doesn't--he's happy that the trend is at least shifting toward guys being the ones throwing the punches, as Donald has a lot less of an issue hitting them back--and the hours are never and will never be nine to five. But when someone comes to Donald with a mystery that needs to be solved, there is no better, no more creative and dedicated a detective than Donald Strachey.

Unless, of course, the mystery is what Timmy has up his sleeve for Donald's Christmas present.

Their first Christmas was a hectic, blissful blur in Donald's mind, full of people and presents and rediscovering the magic of the season. They had only been together for a couple of months when December rolled around, and Donald had still been in training wheels when it came to love and relationships. They had been at a movie--some forgettable, cookie cutter adventure film starring the latest "It" girl and guy--and the snow had just started to fall when Timmy slipped his hand into Donald's and whispered in his ear.

"I've got a present for you."

Before Donald could reply with something flirty, and more than likely a lot dirty, Timmy was pressing a beautifully wrapped present into Donald's free hand.

The package had been rectangular, larger than a tie box, and how Timmy had concealed it in his pocket made Donald want to ask him for tips. Inside Donald found a leather holster, when the wind had shifted he could smell the mix of tanned hide and oil. The holster he had been using had broken only days before, and he hadn't remembered telling Timmy about it.

"How did you know?" He asked, picking the holster up on out the box. It was light and the leather was like butter in his hands. This was no dime store purchase.

"I have my ways," Timmy had replied, smiling like the cat that ate the canary.

The way that Timmy lit up when Donald had opened his present hadn't been the first time that Donald had gone speechless when he looked at him, but it was one of the first times that Donald had known deep down in his heart that this was the man he was going to spend the rest of his life with.

It was also the first time that Donald had realized just how sneaky Timothy Callahan could be.

In the years that followed, it's become part of their holiday tradition. Two weeks before Christmas, Timmy makes them lunch reservations in the main dining room at The Sachs Hotel where they eat ridiculously expensive and delicious food capped by fresh creme brulee for dessert. With stomachs full and wallets lighter, they head to the Boys and Girls' Club parking lot where the tree farm is set up and pick out their tree. Around the time that the tinsel and ornaments and lights are strewn in an organized chaos (the former being Timmy's doing, the latter Donald's) Donald's investigation begins in earnest.

It isn't that Donald wants to know what Timmy's present is--in Donald's opinion, he received the ultimate gift years ago when Timmy came into his life--it's the investigative process that is the fun part, and this year is no different.

\---------

"Is it bigger than a breadbox?" Donald asks, looping garland around Timmy's waist and pulling him close.

"That's complicated," Timmy replies, clasping his hands loosely behind Donald's back and leaning in, kissing him.

\----------

"Can I wear it?" Donald unties the belt on Timmy's robe and pulls open one side, kissing a line along Timmy's clavicle.

"Yes. And no. So kind of." Timmy threads his fingers through the back of Donald's hair.

\----------

"Does your mother know? Will she give me a hint?" Donald stops near a tree so Watson can lift his leg.

"You're not bringing my mother into this," Timmy says, standing just up the road.

When he turns, Donald picks up a handful of clean white snow, shapes it into a ball and hits Timmy's back dead center.

Timmy turns, calmly scoops a handful of snow into his hand and, equally calmly, begins to pack.

A half hour later, their clothes, hair, skin soaked, Donald remembers why Timmy has those trophies for tennis, lacrosse and golf.

\----------

On Christmas morning, Donald wakes up first and, like each and every morning before, he turns and when he sees Timmy's sleepy face next to him, his breath stops and he smiles.

"Merry Christmas, sweetheart," he says softly, leaning over and kissing Timmy's temple.

"Mmm," Timmy hums in reply, stretching and slowly opening his eyes.

Donald slips off to the bathroom to brush his teeth and when he returns, there's a carafe of coffee waiting on a tray with two mugs and an envelope.

"Merry Christmas, Donald," Timmy says, sitting up in bed, the sheets folded at his waist.

"Merry Christmas," Donald repeats, picking up the mug of coffee and eyeing the envelope. He's a detective for crissakes, he sits in his car for hours on end watching people for his job, but his hands are itching to grab the envelope that's addressed to him and Timmy's calm smile isn't helping matters.

"You can open it, you know. It's Christmas."

Timmy takes the mug from Donald's hand and replaces it with the envelope--it's heavy stock, the good stuff--and Donald notices his hands are shaking slightly as he open it.

Inside is a folded piece of paper, which Donald opens and reads. There are less than ten words but it takes a couple of times before the words sink in, and by that time there's a warm band being slipped over his finger.

_Donald, I love you. Marry me, please. Love, Timmy._

"Please?" Donald asks, a lump lodged in his throat and his eyes more than a little watery. The gold band looks right on his hand, like it's always been there.

"I can't help it, it's ingrained in me," Timmy says, his own eyes shiny and amplified behind his glasses.

"I love you." Donald reaches down, cupping Timmy's jaw and kissing him. He takes Timmy's hand, kissing the back, each knuckle, the place where Timmy's ring would soon be. "You need one too, if we're going to do this right."

"So I'm going to assume the answer is yes?"

"Of _course_ it's yes."

Donald moves the tray off the bed and pushes Timmy back onto it, showing him just how "yes" his answer is.


End file.
